Analysis Of Share, Care, Hug Like A Bear

Share, Care, Hug Like A Bear

I was an utterly hateful teenager when I was young. I had a horrid, uncaring, family; cheesy teachers who claimed they could help; and friends who only pitied me. They thought I needed a social life, to leave my room and have fun around kids my age. Truth was, I loved being alone. Isolation was my only desire. I was rude—yes. I lacked politeness—affirmative. I hated people—nothing but the ugly truth.

That was just who I was.

So imagine my rage when I found out that my grandmother would be staying with us for three months. She even greeted me with a bear hug. What was worse? She used to be a psychiatrist. I didn’t need an old, know-it-all, nosey, knit-loving lady to hover around me. I threw a childish tantrum
“I can sleep on the sofa.”

And so I let her sleep in the living room, with no air conditioner, and a rock-hard, good-for-nothing sofa.

When I got back from school one day, I was furious. Angry tears cascaded down my cheeks like waterfalls, and as soon as I barged into my house, I hissed in annoyance. Usually, no one was home. My grandmother was sitting in the living room, knitting another handkerchief.

She asked what was wrong, her brows knitting in concern and I answered, even if I didn’t want her nosing into my business. I needed someone to ventilate to. I told her about the school counselors, and how they were all delusional because they thought they could help me. I told her about how they thought they could read my mind because I look ‘troubled’. I told her how much I hated them.

“And so you hate me?” she asked, realizing that I practically just described her. If she was hurt by my words, she sure did a great job at hiding it.

“Don’t take it personally. You’re not that special,” I scoffed, wiping my ears away furiously. “I hate
“Hey, back off, pal!” I yelled protectively, shoving him away and picking up my grandma’s fallen bags. “You were given eyes to watch were you’re going—use them!”

Then when my grandma’s time to depart arrived, it was harder that I had thought it would be. Her crinkly ol’ smile crept up on me, as much as I hated to admit. She accidently dropped her suitcase that day, her frail arms caving. I helped put them in the trunk, of course, and she thanked me with an affectionate hug. “Oh, I’m getting so old now,” she mused.

“Yeah, start digging a grave,” I said jokingly, and she laughed. Yes, she was that cool. My mom chided me for saying that, but I think she was just jealous that I got a laugh out of something unmannerly from her own mother. We embraced tightly after she said her famous line. The last thing I said before she left in her taxi was a teary, “See you next time!”

But there was no ‘next time’. That really was the last thing I managed to say to her.

When I got pulled out from school a few weeks later because of a ‘family emergency’, I never expected the news to be that my grandmother had passed of old age. She seemed incredibly healthy the last time, so full of joy and life that it broke my